n o-d a m s e l-h e r e (the princess saves herself – A Book Review)

the princess save herself in this one

Author: amanda lovelace

Published: 2016

My Rating:

Follow Amanda Lovelace as she lets you in on her life journey and what’s made her who she is today. Through her four-part book of poetry she discusses loss, abuse, imperfections and being able to come out on top after all of it. This book holds nothing back about the dark parts that haunted her, which not only makes this a book of poetry but also a memoir.

At the same time, she strives to empower people with her words and encourage bravery in the face of fears that society brings down on a person, like the standards of beauty for example.

One of the beautiful things about poetry is that it doesn’t have to rhyme. It doesn’t have to be a super long piece or even more than a word. It’s a work of art that is to be felt and pondered and explored. You put a personal part of yourself in it and then share it with others. It’s a reason I can’t discriminate against any poetry piece. The most I can say if a poem doesn’t reach out to me is that I don’t get it. I can even say I don’t like it. But I’ll never go as far as to say it isn’t poetry.

The language of the book is very simple, but it’s easily buffered by the waves of emotions that are in each word or lack thereof. Even more was the way the words took shape on the page, emphasizing what Amanda was getting across to me. Some words were spaced, some vertical. There wasn’t a single word that was upper case, which created a sense of equality among it all. In some cases the poetry was scattered to show give off that she felt that way. So there was a very nice balance. Everything had its place and really reached out to me.

The book is a quick read if all you’re doing is reading. However, it’s a long one if you’re taking a moment to allow the words to sink, allowing yourself to imagine what Amanda has been through. So I definitely found myself rereading a few and also losing myself in them.

Below are a couple of the poems that really reached out to me.

where
do all the
memories go,
the ones we
hide away
with
lock &
key yet
continue
to shape
us all the
s a m e?

–did it really happen if i can’t remember it?

(p. 13)

This poem really posed an important and personal question to me. A lot of bad things happened to me when I was younger and so I repressed it. So much so that I don’t really remember anything from ten years old and back. I rely on what my mom tells me and my gut feeling on what to believe. So when I read this, there was one nasty pang in a both my heart and gut because I don’t want to remember what’s lost, but I know that alone shapes me and it’s been for the best. Sure, I’m excitable, nervous, and super awkward, not to mention I can have a short temper, but if anything, not remembering things has made my life better.

his talent:
he never
once
had to use
his hands
to touch
each & every
part of
me.

-he could touch me across highways

(p. 120)

This is one I think is relatable in one way or another. We’ve all been hurt by someone that didn’t even need to raise a hand. Words are twisty that way. After reading this one, I only had silence and a nod that said-I get it, I know. It’s okay.

i am
a tigress
who has earned
her softer-than-velvet
stripes

-ode to my stretch marks

(p. 152)

This one made me smile so much. There are times to accept your beauty and thrive in the imperfections of life. I started getting stretch marks in the tenth grade. I also weighed 80 lbs. and approached the final height of 5’2’’. I know, 80 lbs. and stretch marks? How!? Well, it happened and at the hips. For years they bother me and it wasn’t until my sophomore year in college that I started accepting it because at that point they’d trickled halfway down the back of my thighs and I only came out to 107-112 lbs. Today, I’m only 110 lbs. and haven’t grown another inch taller. My skin only does what it can and so I have stripes. Reading this poem made me so fuzzy and warm inside because I totally get it! There are just some things you say ‘to hell with it’ and laugh because you have no control. In fact, I found this amazing tattoo idea for stretch marks!

trees
have words
the wind
cannot carry,
so we must
write
on them
their stories
until there are
none left
for them
to tell.

–write the story

(p. 161)

Reading this one, I can still hear the breeze in the summer twilight as it rustles the leaves. It’s dropped to 70 degrees and a small shiver falls over my shoulders, making smile as I sit on the stoop with my bare feet in the cool grass. Looking up, the stars are peeking out one by one. Fireflies are on the edge of the woods, twinkling, searching for their other half. They look like the stars themselves that have decided to visit us little humans down here. I have this moment every summer. It’s my favorite one and when I hear the breeze ruffling the leaves I swear it’s the trees talking. Maybe that’s cheesy, but it’s so beautiful. It’s a moment when I can just be. And that’s important. Having moments like that means my head isn’t clogged with stress. And to write stories is my passion. It’s why I went to college. I’m not out give underlying motivations or understandings. Readers will find that on their own. I just want to give someone the opportunity to lose themselves because every once in a while we need that. Having a place to go in books helped me survive high school. So when I read this poem, it was really drawing back to all of and reminding what I’m working toward and keeping me tethered to a moment that I want to always have.

Obviously, this book really spoke to me. So I’ve decided to be brave. Below are a couple of the poetry pieces that I’ve worked on.

Fruit:Human

Rigid teeth drag over the soft and fuzzy surface
Scratching until bitter juice trickles down my arm
A nasty shutter

Another bite
There’s no taste

Another bite
There’s no satisfaction
No feeling of fulfillment to be had
But the teeth marks remain.

So does the shame

First Cup

The cranes stand tall
I can’t help but imagine the smaller birds,
The ones I can’t see so well in the early hours,
As seagulls
I can only guess it’s my mind missing the ocean
I’m not an early morning kind of woman

The stone is chill as I lean against it,
Standing on my tippy toes
The graffiti on the other side of the river is as vibrant as I feel the day will be soon

The building behind us still block out the sun
But not its ever reaching rays that touch the river sands with its golden fingers
I contemplate jumping over so I can squish my toes in those grains
It’s an early morning thought
Which isn’t really a thought at all

As the city awakens, so do I
Or at least I try.
The sound of the rushing water could put me back into a slumber
I lay my head down on the bridge wall

I don’t drink coffee
I don’t see the appeal
However, I thought that this momentous occasion called for such circumstance
Like drinking champagne for an anniversary
Or shots for a special birthday

This place all on its own is no longer in the depths of my imagination
It now lingers in the vault of my memory
A peaceful place
Where the water rushes
The birds sing like seagulls
And that first ever cup of coffee tastes like water

Fireflies in the Garden

Some cup them in their hands
Making small wishes and release them to the sky
Others swing at them with rackets and fly swatters
Angry about the wishes that never came

From the porch,
With my chin in my hands
Watching
Waiting
Anticipating

Only for a moment
They fly around like stars
I am one of them
But only for a moment
It’s freedom

In a wisp
A swish
A buzz
A glowing ember returning to the sky
It’s gone and so am I

As I sit here on the porch

This was a phenomenal read for me. I will more than likely find myself coming back to it at some point. I recommend that if you haven’t read it that you consider it.